Breaking Death Note
by Abielle-a-Miel
Summary: Walter White has many problems. Many. But thankfully, there are people like Saul who provide solutions to those problems. In this case, a solution in the form of a innocent-looking black notebook. Except there's another problem that seems bigger than the others. The original owner wants his book back.
1. Chapter 1

**Breaking Death Note.**

 **Chapter 1**

The man stood at the edge of a dimly lit room. He nervously ran his hands across his brown suit as he awaited a guest, a very special guest, one he looked forward to for the money but at the same time, more than ever, dreaded. He groaned as he heard the familiar heavy footsteps approach. As the door swung open with a violent fervor, the man grinned falsely.

The person at the door bellowed: "Saul."

"Oh, hey there, Walt. The word 'hello' beneath you now?" Saul replied with a sarcastic drawl, his arms spread out dubiously.

"You know exactly why I'm here," Walter grumbled. His wrinkled, bald-headed face was deadly serious as he slammed the door and motioned forward.

Saul shrugged and retreated behind his desk. "Okay, okay. You're right. I figured it couldn't be—you know—just a friendly stopover to bring me a fruit basket or anything like that. It's usually something _more_ _important_. What is it this time? The roof cave in?" Saul snapped his fingers and pointed. "Is it the wife? No, huh? Well, we know Gus is out of the way so that's not it. Oh! Pinkman, right?" Saul grinned impishly. "Did I guess right?"

Walt gave him his usual narrow-eyed look of condescension, before shaking his head.

"No, it's not any of that. Look, my brother-in-law's onto me. He's just moments away from unraveling, maybe...literally everything."

Saul rolled his eyes."Oh right. _That_ asshole."

"We need to do something about it," Walt hissed.

"We?" Saul half-chuckled. By now he was just messing with him. He had to admit there was some odd, sadistic delight in seeing Walt become unhinged.

"Yes! He's going to catch on he's—he's getting so close! I _know_ it. He's got a ton of information right now and I'm in trouble and I _need your help_ , Saul."

"Nothing new there," Saul sighed, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets. "Okay, well I'm on it right now. I think I have something that might help you but this is—I'm talking _last resort_ here. This stuff is the kind of stuff you really can't mess around with…but you sound desperate so..."

"You know I can't do things the old-fashioned way. We've got people investigating—they've got people looking around. There is no way I can do this and, you know, have people _not_ notice."

Saul waved his hands. "Will you just calm down? Right, so yeah like I was trying to say before you went on your crazy-person rant there...I've got something for you." Saul bent over, pulling open a desk drawer. He reached in and retrieved a large brown packing envelope and dropped it onto his desk.

Walt threw down his arms. "No, Saul! If it's a gun, I won't do it. I told you—it has to be subtle! Efficient! No traces back to me." Walt inched in towards him, his hands balling into fists and his face pink with agitation. For an old guy, Walt was certainly intimidating. "Is there something you're not understanding here?"

Saul glared, finally snatching up the envelope in frustration and thrusting it into his arms. "Would you just shut up and take this? Right here in this packet is your solution."

Walt stared for a while, his eyes narrowed with judging caution and careful consideration before roughly peeling away at the envelope.

Saul flailed his arms.

"For the love of—don't open that _here!_ It's my place of business, geez. Deal with it at home, preferably in a private place with no one around. Maybe try not to scream like a little girl when you see it."

Walt gritted his teeth. "See what? What the hell is this exactly?"

Saul smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "It's a solution. That's what you wanted, right? Anyway instructions are in there. You'll be able to figure out the rest."

* * *

 **Note: My first and only DN or BB fanfic! So this is an idea I came up with out of the blue because I wondered who was a bigger megalomaniac, Kira or Walt. First, I wanted to draw a fanart for this until other ideas came to mind. Then I couldn't decide whether to make the fanart or the fanfic, so I went with the latter. I haven't actually watched Death Note in a long time so I'll try to be…somewhat accurate. But I suspect some rules will be thrown out the window.**

 **Sorry diehard DN fans! -'**

 **Also I'm not one of the amazing, genius writers of either series, so I will do my best to make a half-decent plot. -_- I'll see how far I can take this. Wish me luck!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Walter White pulled into the empty driveway at exactly quarter after 12. He climbed out of the station wagon and slammed the door before starting for the house. He glimpsed around edgily, looking to see if there were any suspicious vehicles staking the property. Nope. None of Frink's goons. No Mike. No suspicious DEA surveillance vans. And best of all, no Hank. The neighborhood was quiet. Still.

Walt had the all-clear, at least for now.

He halted mid-step, annoyance tugging at his conscience as he recalled the envelope he had left, momentarily forgotten, in the passenger seat. He felt nothing but anger as he mentally cursed the name of Saul.

Saul was going to screw him over, Walt just knew it.

Having retrieved the envelope, its limp brown form swinging between his fingers, he entered into the house and was greeted with silence. Walter Jr was at school. Skyler? Most likely out somewhere with their daughter Holly, her last bit of collateral against him. Things were up and down lately. On the rocks, as they say. Walt hated it. Then again, in this moment, he loved the peace and quiet. And it gave him a chance to look at whatever the contents of this envelope was.

But suddenly another thought came to him.

What if Sky was at her sister's house again? Complaining about him? And what if that limping, dumpy doofus of a brother-in-law was there too, eavesdropping? Scheming? Plotting? Moments away from learning just enough of the truth to secure a warrant?

Wasting no time, Walter tore the envelope open. He swore loudly under his breath.

"Nice going, Saul. Real nice. A goddamn book?"

The black, battered-looking thing had the words "DEATH NOTE" marked on its cover, and as Walt flipped it open he saw nothing but its endless blank pages. Glaring, Walt tossed it onto the couch, and ran a tired hand over his face, mussing up his glasses, before collapsing down beside it. Great. Some "solution." His gaze shifted and he looked to it wearily.

Instructions. Saul said something about instructions. Was there some get-away-with-murder how-to manual somewhere inside? Perhaps written in invisible ink?

But Walt wasn't prepared to murder anyone.

Well.

Not again.

Walt picked up the book and stared at its cover, the words DEATH NOTE taunting him. Groaning, Walt shut his eyes. Weird. Something came over him, like a freakishly dark presence in his midst. His eyes shot open and before his face was a large grin like a hellish Cheshire Cat-meets Joker-meets Jack Skeleton-meets (I dunno) Beetlejuice-meets every clown of a child's worst nightmares. Walt's body shot back, bracing against the couch's back cushions. He slid until he found himself on his rear end on the floor. He gaped in horror at the monstrosity, petrified by the thing's bulging eyes like billiard table balls that stared back at him cross-eyed. AND DEAR GOD! That smile! _THAT SMILE._

Walt screamed. He screamed bloody murder. And his scream was so loud and shrill it could shame even the tiniest, frailest of infants.

It was definitely a sound never thought possible from a full-grown man, let alone a man that had gone toe-to-toe with cartels and drug lords. And the shrill shrieking sound went on for a long time, as though Walt had been falling from a cliff.

"Are you done?" The thing asked.

By then Walt could only manage a very weak nod, and his skin had become dewey with cold-sweat.

"Well, I see this might take a while so I'll start first. The name's Ryuk," the thing said.

"Y-You're real?" Walt managed.

"Of course."

"And what—what are you exactly?"

"A shinigami."

Walt pleated his brows."A _shina-what?"_

"Oh, right. This isn't Japan," Ryuk said, scratching his head. "Okay, so I'm sorta like whatever you think the Grim Reaper is."

Walt's jaw slackened, and his eyes squinted. "O...kay."

"Yup, and that's my book you've got there," Ryuk pointed a long, gnarled finger.

Walt wasn't sure at what point restraint had failed him and his bladder had given way, but sure enough he was feeling a little damper and cooler downstairs than he was comfortable with. He held up a quivering finger and scrambled to his feet.

'Er...I just...can you excuse me one second?"

Ryuk bobbed his creepy spiky-haired head and Walt spun and stumbled out the room, down the hall, sailing into the bathroom before slamming the door and barricading himself inside. He fumbled through his pocket for his cell.

The phone rang for a long time. Way, way too long. And then there was the scratchy sound of someone picking up and the sleazy voice on the other line:

"Did you scream? You screamed didn't you?" Saul asked.

"Why didn't you mention that _that thing_ would appear?!" Walt hissed.

"If I told you, would you believe me?"

Walt didn't know how to respond, shuddering at the thought of that _thing_ still hovering in the next room, and reminded of his wetness.

Saul gave a deep sigh. "Look, the last guy who used that book had a detective on his ass too. And he took care of it. With that _same book_."

Walt lifted a brow. "And how do you know all this? How did you get your hands on a thing like this?"

Saul chuckled. "If I told you the ins and out of everything I do I wouldn't have a job, am I right?"


End file.
